TimeWarped
by Gilly.Flowers
Summary: Mr. T is stuck in a time-warp! Not only is that sucky, but he's forced to relive one of the worst days of his life! What will come out of this supernatural experience for our favorite Demon Barber and baker? What are the lengths Sweeney's willing to go to in order to escape the repeating nightmare? Can he figure it out and out-wit cruel fate? Come and see! Sweenett (obviously C:)


_**Disclaimer: I no own Sweeney Todd, musical nor movie. All rights go to our brilliant Tim Burton and our amazing Stephen Sondheim.**_

* * *

Immediately upon his yelp of surprised agony, his eyes fastened shut tightly, desperately attempting to shield himself from the dreadful light that proved to be extraordinarily abundant that morning. _Really?_ This was what the world deemed fit for an innocent man (not really all that innocent, but hey, twas barely nearing sun-high, so illusions were honestly expected) to wake up to?

With a groan he clasped his hand over his eyes, saving his poor, unsuspecting eyes from the blazing white 'devil-sunshine' that lay just beyond the red dome he created in haste. He shifted around in his barber's chair, turning himself away from the monstrous sun and window, and removed his cupped hand to run his fingers through his disheveled hair.

Sweeney sighed disgruntledly, his head pulsing with its own heart, and tiny shivers of pain pricking the lining of his skull with each throb, synchronized to the beating of the cardiac muscle in its rightful place. He stood slowly from the chair, wobbling slightly in his spot as he willed the room to stop its infuriating spinning. Then, with a newly found resolve, he set on to trudge down his parlor stairs; each creak and every move of his body muddying the waters of his hung-over mind further, and rolled his stomach on a heavy round-about.

He managed to reach the bottom of the stairs without falling flat on his face, pressing a hand to his throbbing forehead and shuffling half dead through to the kitchen.

''Oh, g'mornin' love, tis lovely o' weather, eh? Well, o' course it could 'ave - really – been bet'er, but 'oo am I to complain?" Mrs. Lovett was currently pounding a lump of grey dough into the counter top, her lacy gloves and the front of her _way_-too-revealing-but-by-now-not-surprisingly low dress pattered with clumpy flour. "Wot s'it ya doin' up so early, then?'' Predictably, her needless pleasantries scratched mildly at his head, and he found himself forcing down hisses.

''Tea, Mrs. Lovett. _Now_.'' He tried to keep his voice threatening and masculine, but as he eased into a booth like an old, old man on a cold day, even The Demon Barber himself couldn't stop the whiny pitch of his tone as the pain continued through his head with a growing reverence.

Why was it so bloody _bright_ in here?

With the kettle already boiling on the fire, Mrs. Lovett waved at him dismissively and leaned a hand on the counter, watching Sweeney out of the corner of her eye as she looked out the windows of her shop. She continued to chatter about this and that, sighing and poking idly at the abandoned pie crust to be. Finally, after what felt like an eternity to the poor man, the kettle started to whistle franticly. Of course this did nothing to help him and his migraines one bit either, but at least he had something to look forward too.

As Mrs. Lovett was straining the tea leaves into his cup of scolding water, Toby came skidding into the kitchen, all smiles and bubbly words tumbling out of his mouth just like his body was tripping through the parlor doorway – until he caught eye of Mr. Todd sitting with his head in his hands. His excited sentences died on his tongue, forcing him to swallow them with repulsion.

"O-oh..." Toby stood there, fidgeting in the middle of the shop, tugging at his fancy new suspenders his mum had gotten him a day or so ago. His eyes slid from the grumpy barber to the motherly figure of a baker, standing behind the counter when she inquired with an amused laugh what he had come in to say. Seemingly upon the mere sound of her voice his childish joy shoved back at the awkward tensing his small muscles.

"Oh yeah," His voice cracked, and he turned red as Mrs. Lovett forced back laughter. "I'm done cleanin' the parlor for yah, you wanna see? I even put away the gin! I set the fire going too, but not too big mind you – anythin' else I can do 'fore we open shop?"

"Fantastic, Toby lovey! Yer so good to me, don't know what I'd do wit' out yah, y'know that?" Mrs. Lovett smiled at him, her nose scrunching up, while she poured milk and sugar into Sweeney's tea. Toby nodded his shaggy brown head, beaming in the glow of her appreciation. "Now let's see – oh you know what? There's a heavy ol' box I need to get outside, mind taking it for me? Me poor bones ain't what the used to be – can barely get up in the mornin's."

She hadn't even finished her sentence before he squeaked "Yes mum!" and bounded to the direction she pointed at. Grinning, Mrs. Lovett carefully picked up the cup of tea and rounded the counter, her eyes set on the rim. Just as she was nearing Sweeney's table, Toby came back with a large wooden crate hoisted up against his chest by his tiny arms, grunting lightly from the weight.

A bag of flour that had been sitting cautiously close to the edge of the counter suddenly dropped to the ground, a white cloud _poof_ing up from behind the counter. Already walking quite blindly through the shop, Toby jumped, surprised, and he bumped into Mrs. Lovett, sending her and the crate and the cup tumbling through the air. The big ol' box landed with a loud boom on the floor.

Mrs. Lovett fell onto Sweeney's table with a shrilled cry, the tea hurtling across the wood like murderous waves, onto his lap. Sweeney yelled, shooting up out of his seat, swearing vehemently as he pulled himself away from the avalanche of boiling water. Straightening herself quickly, Mrs. Lovett bombarded him with apologises, rushing to get something to wash him off. She jumped at the sound of her pie shop door slamming, the bell swinging madly. Her shoulders slumped, and she sighed softly when she heard him stomping around above her.

"I – I'm sorry Mrs. – Mum…" Mrs. Lovett looked over at Toby with her hands on her hips, and she pressed a smile on her face, walking over to him.

"Tis alright love, accidents 'appen; it just won't again, huh?"

_Bitch, she - fucking bitch_. Sweeney growled, his trousers beginning to stick uncomfortably to his thighs. They made a disgusting _snick-snick-snick_ing noise with each step he took towards his bed chambers, and this only fueled his anger.

Throwing his door open, Sweeney grumbled as he rampaged around for clean, dry clothes. How dare she pour tea on – _hot_ tea, of all things! Who did she – that bitch! Why was this morning going so catastrophically sour? Was this his non-existing God's way of saying he needed to face the fact that he's supposed to be dead? That his time on this earth was done, whether or not he's fulfilled his purpose of being? What the hell, God?

Sweeney stripped, his hatred for the woman below kicking the headache back and yelling about in the front of his mind. Grabbing viciously at the pants and shirt and suspenders he'd set out, he tossed his wet articles to the wall and trudged to the bathroom.

Sinking into a tub of hot water, Sweeney breathed out his vexation. His chest deflated, his stress leaving his body in long breaths through his nose, and he let his shoulders loosen as he leaned back. _Whatever God_. He laid his head back against the cold rim, his arms stretched out, his eyes closed.

Time passed, really; but it seemed like he was only at peace for a second or two, before he jumped out of his skin when the door swung open. He yelped in surprise, freezing just as Mrs. Lovett stopped short in the middle of the room. Her eyes went wide when they dipped down into the water, and her jaw dropped. She (almost reluctantly) twirled around, throwing her hands to her eyes as explanations sped out of her mouth.

"_Holy shit_ – I'm so sorry Mr. T! I –I wasn't – I didn't mean to! I came up to get – get laundry – dirty laundry, o' course – I swear - didn't mean ta walk in on yah – uh, bathing - "

"Get out, woman, _get out!_" He shrieked, covering his…_parts_ with his hands, wishing there was suds to help conceal his body better.

"B-but the laundry, lov - "

"_Out!_"

When the door to the bathroom slammed behind the baker's retreating backside, Sweeney groaned in heightening embarrassment and irritation. He plopped his head into his dripping hands, blowing out an annoyed breath as he cursed this day. Was this truly happening to him? Crap…His head still hurt.

That night the last thing he wanted was to have to confront Lovett, with her all-too-seeing gaze and her pinkening cheeks, knowing that her heated face would without a doubt match his. That, honestly, was way too much emotion he would like to show.

So instead the darkening evening found our barber waiting out the baker, hoping to sneak down whenever she finished her cleaning or whatever it was she did, and grab the gin before he had to interact in any way with her. Was he avoiding her? Absolutely. Would he ever admit this to anyone? Of course not.

Every now and then he could hear her laughter drifting up through the floor boards; it grated on his nerves to realize that she's down there having the time of her life, while he sat there with their previous encounter whirling about in his mind. How could she continue on like nothing had happened? Like she hadn't seen his…'wee-wee', mere hours ago! Well – _well_ –

Well nothing, he wasn't going to go trampling down there just to see her mood drop; he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of realizing he'd been brooding about it the entire time while she joked around and laughed and danced with her stupid labouring boy.

Finally after ages of waiting and frowning at the floor, the shop below him grew quiet, and when he stood to glance out the window, he saw that the candles had been blown out. Swiftly he rushed towards his parlor stairs, creeping down them as silently as the creaky boards would allow. Once he retrieved a bottle of gin and a glass, he sat down at a table, flicking his gaze about the darkness before uncapping the bottle.

It had been a terribly long day – a _terrible, long_ day that he didn't wish to repeat - and it wasn't after two glasses when Sweeney's head lolled forward, his chin sliding precariously in his palm. He fell asleep, his last vague thought being that he was actually a little grateful for the day's end.

The next morning Sweeney awoke in his barber's chair. With his head blistering away devotedly, (which was strange, considering he'd only one and a half glasses the night before. In actuality, he was more hung-over than he was yesterday!) he groaned in pain from the light shooting in through the large window. He clasped a hand over his eyes and stood up, his mouth thick and his hair disheveled. It wasn't until he was at the bottom of the stairs, his and Mrs. Lovett's gazes interlocked, that he remembered all the horrors that had gone on the day before.

''Oh, g'mornin' love, tis lovely o' weather, eh? Well, o' course it could 'ave - really – been bet'er, but 'oo am I to complain?" Mrs. Lovett's small fists were pounding a lump of dough, her idle tone of voice and her low-cut dress stirring up an odd _déjà vu _feeling in his stomach. Well, more importantly, what the hell? Why – _how_ was she going on like this? Like nothing had even ever happened?! Sweeney fought back the flames igniting his face as he stared back helplessly. "Wot s'it ya doin' up so early, then?''

Slowly he made his way towards the table, glaring at her as he waited for a sign that she was tricking him – that she was, at the very least, trying to play the awkwardness off. But alas, no such indications were made as she went about her morning discussing weather.

"Tea Mrs. Lovett…_Please_." He muttered, his eyes casted down on the table like a scolded child. He surprised himself by being slightly polite, and was sure he surprised the baker, but didn't dare glance up to be positive. She didn't ask any questions. Instead she merely waved at him, leaning her hand on the counter edge and the other on her hip.

Instinctively Sweeney's hands clapped over his ears just before the kettle started to whistle, and he grimaced lightly from the sound that still managed to curve around his tightly pressed fists. He didn't know how he knew the kettle would blow, but he didn't mind.

As she fixed his cup Toby came hopping in, his face alit with giddy smiles – until, that is, he and Sweeney caught glances. Then, oh then – Toby's grin dropped and he stood there in the middle of the shop, fidgeting. _Stupid brat._

Mrs. Lovett and Toby jumped into conversation: her verbally patting his back and pinching his cheeks as she expressed her ultimate gratitude, him sucking it all up like a starved man placed in front of a feast fit for kings. In the end Toby wound up carrying a suspiciously familiar looking box through the shop, Lovett carefully bringing his steaming tea over to him. A bag of flour fell off the counter -

Suddenly it dawned on him – the revelation drowning him fast and splashing him cold in the face like a bucket of a week old water –

"Oh no -"

_Not again._

* * *

_DUH-DUH-DUUUUUH! Thank you loads o' toads for getting to the bottom, yeah? _

_I just, really, wanted to say…Hi. C: Well, not hi, holloa. I say Holloa, okay? Okay! Well…Uh…I had a dream, you see, and dis was my dream C: Well the important parts of it anyways, I'm pretty sure my math teacher was accusing my class mates of murder too, so yeah…That's not in here XD I also had a dream just a couple of days ago, and funny enough the only thing I remember of it was Mrs. Lovett walking around in a blue fluffy towel… Sweeney was watching her from dis weird tree house thingy that was in the middle of the street – I'm a Sweenett devotee, extremely, I have problems….And I'm also very _very_ lucky to get such awesome dreams, yeah? Yeah!_

_Well I hope everyone enjoys dis. It's more….Humorous I guess, but that's cuz I'm in such a flappy good mood. I like it though, so enjoy it if you can! R&R, too! Should I continue dis?_ _ - Gillies _

_P.s. I lucid dream (I can control what I do and shet in my dreams) so Helena is usually always in my dreams! I love it so much, I stole Bellatrix's wand last night too! And a couple of days ago I dreamt that Mme. Thernaider and Monsiour Thernaider were dancing around in my kitchen, and Madame made a Harry Potter joke XD I don't remember what it was, but it had something to do with Dobby. _

_Can anyone else lucid dream? Does anyone else dream of Helena? _


End file.
